


empty mind (empty world)

by madnessiseverything



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: episode 14 spoilers, some exploring of what we learned about molly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 23:17:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14319234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessiseverything/pseuds/madnessiseverything
Summary: His mind is blank, foggy, a black space where he is sure things are supposed to reside. He doesn’t quite know what things, but he knows he should find something, anything in here. But all he finds is a void, unknown terror sweeping through him at the thought of possibly falling into it. And he finds that word, echoing through the space within his skull, reverberating almost painfully through every fibre of his being.or where molly is born with confusion and emptiness.





	empty mind (empty world)

**Author's Note:**

> as so many people, i was really taken by the reveals about mollymauk in episode 14. so here is the result of me scribbling down some words about molly and empty. i will be 100% honest and say this will likely not be the last fic about this since i still have a lot of feelings.

_ Empty . _

 

He doesn’t see anything around him, not in the field or between the trees. His skin feels tight, uncomfortably so. Earth covers him still, dried and cracking. He is alone, the gaping hole next to him staring back whenever he dares to look. There is grass beneath him, damp and green. His nose fills with the smell of rain. He isn’t sure how he knows the smell. His eyes drift upward. There is no sunlight, only grey stretching across the expanse of sky above him. He breathes in shakily. He isn’t sure how he knows anything, how he knows about the dirt, the hole, the grass or the sky. 

 

_ Empty . _

__

 

His mind is blank, foggy, a black space where he is sure things are supposed to reside. He doesn’t quite know what things, but he knows he should find something, anything in here. But all he finds is a void, unknown terror sweeping through him at the thought of possibly falling into it. And he finds that  _ word _ , echoing through the space within his skull, reverberating almost painfully through every fibre of his being. His vision blurs and he clutches at the grass, a sudden nausea twisting his stomach in ways he is sure are not supposed to happen.

 

_ Empty . _

__

 

It feels wrong, his tongue heavy and slow when he tries to repeat the sound from within his head. It sounds too loud, too rough, too grating. His throat closes around the letters as he stumbles over them. It hurts and he chokes on it, chokes on the word, the sound, chokes on the dirt still coating his tongue. Fingers dig into his skin and he heaves, eyes shut tightly against the outside world. He knows this won’t protect him should he need it, but the motion feels like a shield, covering his quivering form, hiding the world from him and him from the world. Maybe if he waits, things will fill the space.

 

_ Empty . _

__

 

__

He wonders if that is his name, because people have names, he knows. He doesn’t dare to dwell on why he knows, nor does he dwell on the way he shudders at the simply possibility this might be what others call him. Others. His head snaps up, his unsteady gaze scanning the trees not too far off his right. Forest. Field. His grip on the grass slowly loosens and he exhales. Slow. There is nothing, not around him, not within him. Carefully, he pushes away from the hole, eyes lingering on where he climbed out of what seemed an eternity ago.

__

 

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**_Empty_ ** **.**

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__

It’s louder, more painful. He is sure it must be him. It feels engrained within him, no longer ringing through his skull but rushing through every inch of his body. His heart thumps and the word repeats, screaming, echoing. He wonders if he is dying. Dying. He knows what that is. His fingers clench, digging into mud as his eyes continue to stare at the hole amidst the grass, dark among the green. Dying is what happens before the end. He wonders if dying naturally includes a hole to climb out of, and a word. He wonders if it naturally includes this void, this terror, this nothing.

__

 

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_ Empty _ .

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__

He says it again, slowly, quietly. It sounds foreign still, clumsy as it pushes past his lips. It fills the air and he blinks, a warmth spreading somewhere between his ribs. His hands slowly push against his chest. The slight jump of his heartbeat, thudding against his hand every time, fills the silence in his head and his breaths come easier, less painful now. A mist drifts from his face upward and he shivers, the dampness of the grass and air seeping into his skin. He wants to move, get away from this hole, maybe even the void resident in his mind. He shakes with the need to run. 

__

 

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_ Empty _ .

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Maybe it’s a warning, he thinks as he pushes further away from the hole in the ground. He should get away, leave this screaming hole behind. He twists until his knees dig into mud, palms firmly on the ground. He breathes and pushes his legs up underneath him. Slowly he finds himself upright, the surroundings and his stomach turning in unison. He thinks he might fall back down when the world stops and he finds himself standing between forest and field, hills obscuring any further details of the world beyond his vision. 

__

 

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_ Empty _ .

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__

The sound fills the air again, and again. He exhales it, listens to the way the letters push through the air as if he is giving them a shove and parting the silence with his foggy breath. The void in his mind pulses and he grits his teeth. Carefully, he places one foot in front of the other, hesitating only briefly before turning towards the fields. Maybe he can find something, anything, if he looks. And so he does, so he walks, so he looks. Maybe the void will vanish when he finds something to put in its place. 

__

  
  
_ Empty . _

__

 

__

“What do you mean, empty?” It sounds odd in the stranger’s voice, unfamiliar, so different from the sounds still rushing past his bloodied lips. Yet a wave of relief hits him, sudden and violent, fast. He repeats the sounds with desperation now, his voice shaking at the possibility of an answer. His hands grab at nothing, dragging through the air clumsily. Maybe the word means something to someone, maybe someone can tell him why the word will not leave him alone, how it moves from his mouth yet still remains within. Maybe someone can finally tell him what happened. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

__

 

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_ (Later, he will find words that make him feel much better than the one he repeats again and again, in hope of it being the key to whatever happened. Much later, the void will be replaced by joy, affection and fast words that bring smiles to those around him. Later.)  _

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_~~ Empty . ~~ _

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Months go by, then a year and an answer does not come, no question gets a reply. But now he is content in filling the void with things of his own choosing, with his own memories, his own emotions, his own  _ words _ . The past doesn’t matter, he muses, quick hands shuffling cards and smiling down at the curled up figure of a young girl by the name of Toya, her blonde hair splayed out over his thighs.

__

 

__

The past can stay wherever it decided to hide, he has no interest in what it made him forget. He is more than happy to remain in this new present, to become and be Mollymauk Tealeaf. And if questions still remain somewhere, if his blood seems to be much different than anybody else’s, if he can do special things, he is content in letting it happen. Mollymauk Tealeaf doesn’t want to know. 

__

 

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Mollymauk Tealeaf lives day by day. The circus doesn’t ask. Mollymauk Tealeaf doesn’t wonder anymore.

__

**Author's Note:**

> (Another year later someone calls him by a name he doesn't know and his new friends ask questions he doesn't know the answers to. He still doesn't want to know. Words and explanations that he never thought he'd share spill out and he is still Mollymauk Tealeaf. And Mollymauk Tealeaf doesn't want anything to do with whoever he died as.) 
> 
> come yell at me about our disaster family on my [cr tumblr](https://nottanothercritter.tumblr.com/).


End file.
